One In A Million
by PurpleAlbatross
Summary: 10 months after the departure of the 4-5-6 and Jack, still shattered and looking for answers, returns to Earth. Can Gwen help him work through his loneliness and guilt?


One in a Million

Rhys was snoring again. Gwen grinned wryly in the darkness – he always denied it, swearing blind that he "just didn't snore" and always slept like a baby. A baby! That was ironic – as if they slept so soundly either. Edward was only a month old, and hadn't learned to sleep through the night. Gwen was always tired, but coping well enough and Rhys gave her all the help she could ask for. After a long day's work, he would always be there – to cook them both a hearty dinner and tidy up around the house, or just sit on the sofa and put his arm around Gwen, holding the baby and crooning to it in his heart-melting, love struck way. She was lucky, and she knew it. The baby she had carried through those desperate days in the Earth's history, when all humanity seemed to be going mad and destroying itself, had been born into a home of love. He was a symbol of hope – the reason they got up the morning, and worked and ate and slept. His presence stood as a reminder that life goes on, and that it was worth living, even in the darkest of times.

Gwen smiled and rolled over so she could watch Rhys as he slumbered. She didn't mind the snoring. He was living and real and – here. His blessed steadfastness and good humour had been her rock in the last ten months when reality had seemed suspended. So many lives had ended and this new one had begun. After the Earth's encounter with the 4-5-6 she would never be the same, but she was living her life, and making somewhere good for her baby to grow up in.

The shrill ringing of the telephone shattered the quiet and at the same time the baby began to wail. Gwen threw back the covers, grabbed the phone from the nightstand and scurried from the room. Answering the phone and resting it on her shoulder, she went to the baby and picked him up. Over the crying it was hard to make out the voice on the line.

"Gwen? Gwen, is that you?"

"Yes, speaking… who is this? Shhh… Eddie… shh – Mummy's trying to hear…"

"Gwen, it's…"

"Oh my God."

Sounds of grumpy, disturbed sleep came from the other room. "Gwen, what's going on? Who is it?"

"I'm not sure… Shhh."

On the phone – "Gwen can you hear me?"

"Rhys. It's Jack!"

"No!"

Jack was trying to talk but the general noise in the house was making it difficult for anyone to hear him. "Gwen?"

"Yes, yes I can hear you."

"Can I see you?"

"Ummm… sure… Where are you? Can I come and pick you up?"

Rhys intervened. "What are you doing? It's three in the morning!"

"Oh shut up, you daft sod – I'm going to find him."

"Well then you have to let me drive you." Rhys was shaking off the grip of slumber and clambering into his trousers.

Gwen marvelled. The man was wonderful.

The baby had settled a little and the voice over the phone could be heard more clearly. It sounded low and defeated.

"Jack. What's happened?"

"I just want to see you."

Ten minutes later they were in the car, the baby in his carry-cot on the back seat, asleep once more, and Gwen in the passenger seat, fingers nervously intertwining. She had thought of him often while he had been away, first travelling the Earth, then travelling the stars. She knew it was what he needed – or was it? She had wanted so badly to look after him, in those shattering few days after the 4-5-6 had left, to nurture him and love him and make him whole. But it had been no good. As though knowing that nothing, nothing could be worse than facing what had happened, he had run away. Torchwood was finished. All that important work was going undone. Was that why he had come back?

Rhys was speaking to her, jolting her out of her reverie. "Where to?"

"Same as last time."

Rhys snorted disapprovingly. "The man's got a nerve…"

"Shh darling and drive."

"You all right?"

"I think so," but her voice trembled.

Rhys took one hand from the wheel and felt for Gwen's, his fingers moving in soothing circles over hers. The car sped through the darkness.

"What do you think he's come back for?"

"I don't know."

"It's good, isn't it? That he's come back?"

"Rhys, it's wonderful!"

"Then why are you so nervous?"

"I'm not!" She made a swipe at him.

"You are. I can tell by the way you keep putting your hair in your mouth."

"You are horrendous, Rhys Williams! Look… I just want him to be okay. You know, the way he used to be. I couldn't bear seeing him how he was after… you know."

"I know love. Look, promise me you won't worry about him too much. Hmm? Remember, you have a family to look after now."

"Here we are". Rhys pulled over and switched off the engine. The quiet surrounded them.

"You going alone?"

"Uh- huh. You have to stay with the baby."

Rhys might have demurred but he knew his wife. First a policewoman, then a member of Torchwood, she wasn't the sort of girl you would try to protect. He merely nodded and kissed her on the cheek.

"Good luck."

"Thanks."

Gwen pushed through the little gate at the side of the road and headed up the hill. It was a warm night in late summer, and the smell of flowering grass hung on the air. Looking back she could see lights twinkling, and further away, the more substantial glow of Cardiff.

He was there, standing at the top of the hill where she had left him the last time, coat open, hands thrust deep into the pockets, head up. She could read nothing from his expression. The usual Jack smile was there, but in the dark she could not tell what lay behind the eyes. She approached uncertainly, not sure which Jack this was that she was meeting.

"Hey."

"Gwen Cooper."

She hesitated a moment, fumbling with the hem of her jacket, weighing him up with her eyes. Then she threw caution to the winds. Two swift steps and they were in each other's arms.

The hug lasted longer than it should have done. Her cheek pressed against his collar-bone, her hands on his back, she was searching for her answer. Was this the old Jack, leader of Torchwood, delightful and flirtatious? Or was this the dark Jack, tortured and hard, running from himself? Or was this a new Jack altogether? She leant into his embrace regardless. He was tense, but yielded a very little under her touch. Then he put his chin down on her shoulder and bowed over and in that moment her heart sank. This was not her Jack. He was hurting, badly, guard still up, but with a new quality now to his pain. She felt it in his whole attitude. He was lonely.

She scrubbed her face in his jacket and wriggled away, looking up and studying him.

"Why did you come back?"

There was a long, long pause. The silence breathed between them.

"I guess – I guess you were right. I can't just run away."

She nodded.

"You know, forever is a long time. Someday, maybe a hundred years from now, maybe a thousand, I'll be able to forget, move on but-" He fought in his mind to untangle questions he hadn't even answered himself yet. "You – you're here now. You and Rhys and – I can't keep running until everyone I know and love is gone. Not anymore."

"How did you work this out?"

"I don't know." He took a deep breath, still speaking stiffly and deliberately. "I was out there, so far away on a strange planet, and I just – hated – having no-one."

"Oh come here."

She held him again, pulling his head onto her shoulder and reaching up to ruffle his hair. He let her but didn't respond, leaving his hands by his sides. He wasn't going to come over all vulnerable just yet. Gwen sighed inwardly. He was giving her glimpses, but it was going to be a long, long while before he opened up to her, or even to himself.

"Right," she said at last, stepping back. "We're taking you home. Okay?"

He nodded. "I was hoping you'd ask," he admitted. "Otherwise I was going back – out there."

"Well we're not having that. I've got you back now and I'm not letting you go again." She plucked at his sleeve. "Let's go. Rhys is waiting at the car."

Rhys got out of the car to shake Jack's hand. Then Gwen pulled Jack over. "There's someone you have to meet." She opened the door of the back seat and he gazed in at the sleeping baby.

"This – is Edward Ianto Williams."

She watched his face as she said it. A brief flicker was all that registered at the name. Otherwise, his expression, like his whole manner, was carefully controlled.

He sat in the passenger seat on the way home and Rhys, sensing a need to lighten the atmosphere, pumped him for tales of his adventures. He had some good anecdotes, stories about stand-offs with various bizarre aliens and interesting encounters in bars. He was charming and entertaining and Gwen relaxed. This was what she was used to and it comforted her. Perhaps he was not completely broken.

Back at the house Gwen and Rhys went all domestic and Jack felt slightly lost. It was nice to be among friends again and back on the Earth he knew and cared about. It was nice to be in this homey, mundane setting, with the sky outside lightening, the baby fussing, and the kettle boiling as Gwen went around putting together an early breakfast. But in spite of the niceness, Jack fought with a rising sense of claustrophobia – it scared him to be around people who knew him and his history, who remembered the horror of ten months ago. He beat it down, remembering that even out there among the planets he had not been able to run from himself. The memories, though constantly pushed away, had still been there and had given him no peace.

There was hot toast and butter and Gwen was frying bacon. Rhys knocked back a mug of coffee and then went to sleep on the sofa. He would have to be up again pretty soon to go to work in spite of his disturbed night. Then the baby wanted feeding and changing, so Jack ended up at the kitchen table by himself, nibbling at the food half-heartedly. Presently, Gwen came down and joined him. She had barely slept the whole night long and was feeling drained and disoriented. She drank tea and tried to keep her eyes open. Afterwards, Jack washed up and Gwen went upstairs to have a shower and tidy up. It was properly light now and looking like a warm day. Rhys had to be woken up though she hated to do it, and she had to work out what to do with Jack. He wasn't going to be happy cooped up in the house all day. God, she had wanted this to happen, but now it had it was very daunting. With no Torchwood, Jack was going to be at a loose end. She couldn't have him around the house fretting for God knows how long.

Jack, for his part, was wondering if he had made a terrible mistake. He just didn't belong here any more. He had known that. That was why he had left. Afraid of himself and afraid of the memories, he had bidden a brusque farewell to Gwen and Rhys and had taken to his heels. He hadn't even stayed for Ianto's funeral. All he had wanted to do was put it all far, far behind him – forget about Torchwood, forget about Ianto, Gwen, Owen and Tosh, and even to forget he had ever had a daughter or a grandson – and make himself a new life far away.

And then something had happened. He had missed them. The living and the dead, the memories, good and bad, people he had loved deeper than the deepest hurt. They were pulling him back. It was ghastly and terrifying but resist as he might he had succumbed to the pull. He didn't know how long he was going to stay or what he was going to do but time and time again, as he had journeyed and met new people, he had remembered Gwen on that hilltop.

Through a haze of tears she had begged, "Are you ever coming back?"

"What for?"

"For me."

He had tried to forget that memory, like all the others. He had ruined too many lives. Everything he touched, it seemed, turned to dust. Gwen had not known what she was saying. But somewhere in the mists of guilt and fear and self-loathing, the tiny spark of self-preservation was saying, "Go home". And this, he realised, was home. Home and yet he was afraid – so afraid. In all his immortal life he had never felt such trepidation. This planet, this place, was where some of his darkest demons lay. How could he face them?

He looked round with something like relief as he heard Gwen re-enter the room. It was strange, the way he felt around her, as though she represented his greatest fear and his greatest hope. Rhys snored on the settee. Jack felt his comforting presence as she did. And then there was that baby, moon-faced, huge dark eyes when they were open – like Gwen's. That deep, intense peace when he slept. Jack made faces at him now as he gaped from his mother's arms.

Jack crammed the frying-pan onto the draining board and came to join Gwen as she placed Edward in his cot at the side of the room. She woke up poor Rhys with another cup of coffee and toast and sent him on his way. And then they were left alone. The chores done, there didn't seem to be much to do but make awkward conversation. She asked him more about his adventures and told him baby stories. They kept it flowing, studiously avoiding the unpleasant and difficult topics. Gwen, tired though she was, was staying observant. Jack was master of himself, but clearly uncomfortable, though that was perhaps to be expected. What was more telling was an undercurrent of unhappiness – a forced quality in his smile, an uncharacteristic droop in his shoulders, a heaviness about the eyes. He had a lot of pain in his past, she knew that, and he had assimilated it and carried on. But this new load still burdened him heavily. In fact, she suspected that his state of mind was no better than it had been the day after the 456 had left. Indeed the added knowledge that 10 months of travel could not shake one iota of the grief and the guilt may well have worsened things for him. Yes, he had believed he could forget. But maybe his faith was now faltering a little – or maybe he just ran out of patience. In any case, apprehension that he might have to live with this forever was weighing him down.

At length Jack sensed that Gwen was exhausted and need some space. He got up, "I'm going for a walk."

She nodded gratefully and indicated that he should take the keys.

When he let himself back in in the early afternoon, she was fast asleep on the couch, with Eddie equally fast asleep on her stomach, one hand curled protectively over him. The fresh air had restored a little of his faltering appetite. He raided the fridge.

Over the next few days, Jack settled into the household. He slept, if he slept at all, on the settee and in the daytime he tried to make himself useful. The lack of purpose was horrible and the feeling that he had been mistaken in coming gnawed at him constantly. But the love and warmth around him was something he had not felt in a long time and he couldn't quite bring himself to leave. Besides, there was still the question of Torchwood. He hadn't intended to spend his time moping around Gwen and Rhys' house. He thought something ought to be done about Torchwood – at least it should be discussed and some decisions made. But again, he couldn't bring himself to raise it.

Gwen tried to keep him occupied. They went shopping in Cardiff together, and visited parks and museums. Rhys teased them about their "dates" but had the sense not to get uppity. It was difficult for her to see Jack concealing so much pain. She was beginning to see what it must have been like for Ianto, wanting so much to have Jack open up to him, to be in his confidence, only to be almost constantly rebuffed. Jack always wanted people to think that he didn't need them, that he was always doing all right, even when he wasn't. That was why she hadn't been surprised at the way he had taken off, trying to work things out on his own. There was usually no point in trying to get him to tell you anything he didn't want to, especially if you weren't Ianto. But the very fact that he had come back to them indicated a weakening in his resolve. Maybe even he had a limit – only so much he could deal with on his own.

Rhys put a hand out for Gwen as she clambered into bed.

"Kid asleep?" he asked.

"Which one?" Gwen smiled grimly.

Rhys pulled her closer. He knew she was feeling the strain.

"So talk to me. How is Jack?"

"Argh."

"Argh?"

"Rhys…" she sighed. "I – I just hate this. I'm not used to him like this. Ever since I've known him he's been… I dunno… _He_ was the one who took care of all of _us_, you know? We saw him have his troubles, of course, but he always managed to convince us that he really was all right. But now he really, really isn't. I'm not sure he ever sleeps… He's hardly eating-"

"-and for Jack that _is_ serious!"

"-God, yesterday in the restaurant, he didn't even hit on the waitress…"

Rhys laughed.

"You can laugh. But the worst of it is that he still insists on bottling it all up – he doesn't want to talk and he won't admit that he's not okay. I can't do anything with someone like that. I can't help him."

"If anyone can _you_ can."

"Oh shush."

"I'm serious." He kissed the nearest part of her anatomy, an elbow. "I know you. You're _brilliant_."

"Yeah, well I love you to bits." She flopped into his arms gratefully, tears pricking under tightly closed lids.

In muffled tones she continued. "The day Ianto died, when I went to see him?"

"Hmm."

"Jack and I held each other and cried. That was the last time he showed me his feelings. After that-"

"After that it was Scary Jack."

"Yeah exactly."

"Okay well here's what you're gonna do. He can't go on like this and nor can we."

"Mm-hm."

"So tomorrow you're gonna talk to him. You're going to look after him and give him whatever he needs. If you've gotta break him down then do it. You know it's the only way you're going to get him out of this."

She nodded and sniffed loudly. She didn't know why she was crying all of a sudden, but somehow she didn't want to stop. Rhys held her very tight, stroking her hair in the darkness.

Gwen awoke with renewed determination. Rhys watched her proudly, knowing she was up to the task. She had always been good with people. He remembered how she had handled Clem MacDonald, terrified and unwilling to confide in anyone, and had got him to trust her. He wished her luck in low tones when he kissed her good-bye; but her heart sank a little at that – was he expecting a miracle?

That day they went into Cardiff. Gwen needed to run some errands and, while she was busy looking at baby products in Boots, she sent Jack off with a list to do some food shopping. He might as well make himself useful.

They met up later and bought sandwiches. Then they strolled along, Jack pushing the pram, shopping bags slung over the handles. He could not very well protest when Gwen directed them towards the bay, the first time he had been there since the bomb. The bomb site was almost cleared of rubble by now. A big crater, fenced off, was all that remained of Torchwood. Jack felt his stomach lurch as he trod the familiar paving stones and he shot daggers at Gwen. He could have done without this forceful reminder of certain events. Totally unbidden and beyond his control, images danced before his blurring vision. He remembered the shattering flash of pain as the bomb had exploded in his insides, ripping him apart with savage force – but it was the waking up afterwards that was far, far too awful to recall. Desperately, he dragged his thoughts back to happier times. Operations in the Hub. Toshiko tapping away at her computer. Owen storming around with his stethoscope. He didn't know what Ianto did half the time – except sometimes he would look round and he would be watching him, those piercing brown eyes trying to unmask his very soul. _Oh God – they were all dead now, all dead…_

Gwen had brought them to the waterfront, found them a bench overlooking the bay and was digging through the bags for their sandwiches. When she lifted the baby from the pram the weight of the bags pulled it over backwards. Jack didn't notice, gazing with unseeing eyes at the water.

"Jack!" Gwen snapped in annoyance. Dragged abruptly from his reverie, Jack looked round and, finally noticing her predicament, came to her aid.

"You ok?" she asked, as they chased tins across the concrete.

"Yes." His voice carried a warning tone.

Somehow she got him to eat, helped by his determination to keep up appearances at all cost. Once they had food inside them, she dared to broach the subject again, feeling a bit nervous and silly.

"I'm – I'm sorry I made us come that way. Did it bring back painful memories?"

"Yup."

"You going to talk to me?"

"Not really."

"You trying to drive me crazy?"

"You going to leave me alone?"

"I don't think so! Look, Jack." She grabbed his hands and made him look at her. "You're not yourself… you're upset."

"I'm not upset. I'm fine."

"Jack-"

"Okay, I'm not fine. But there's nothing you can do about it. Now just drop it."

"Jack, I don't know how to say this, but – I'm not going to drop it. I can see you hurting and I want you to talk to me about it. You never know, maybe I can help-"

"Stop!" Jack didn't like this line of talk. It made him unsure of himself, and besides, it reminded him all too forcefully of someone else.

"Okay you win. You don't have to talk."

"Thank you."

"But you can't stop _me_ talking."

And talk she did. She kept it light. She didn't want to rip him to pieces right there and then. So steering clear of the nastier areas she reminisced about old times. Antics in the Hub, adventures and battles and craziness. She recalled old jokes, and chatted about all of them, reliving memories of the people that were now dead. This was painful for her too, going over old times she would never have again, but she stuck to her guns. It was something that must be done.

Jack was running the gamut of the emotions. He tried at first to shut out what he was hearing, push the memories away where they couldn't hurt him. Gwen didn't know what she was doing – he couldn't go through this. At another time he might have succeeded. Over the years he had developed a knack for schooling his thoughts, and selecting those memories which he wanted to keep and those he wanted to discard. But he was lower now than he had been in a long time, his veneer of "okay-ness" was thinner. The words were getting through. Once again the images were rising up. All of them – the people Gwen was talking about and others – people she hadn't even known. Sad times and happy ones – all sorts of beautiful, heartbreaking memories. And there, and there again, he would see Ianto, with his quiet speech and, oh those eyes! He shuddered. And she wanted him to talk. He couldn't do it, not ever. And then again, there might have been one person once… Someone who had desperately wanted to help him always. Too late now… He'd never given him the chance.

The words escaped his lips, thick and dry. "I want Ianto here."

Gwen started. For a fleeting instant, the terrible thought. "Maybe you should have told him that when he was alive." The thought beaten down and stamped on. There was no need for it, Jack was probably thinking it anyway.

Jack was going to be sick. He got up from the bench and made for the railings. He leant on them heavily, shaking and sweating. He had made a huge mistake. He had to get away, this instant, far, far from this planet and all its associations.

Gwen watched him from where she sat, a little alarmed at his reaction. Obviously it was more than just her words that had affected him. She'd set off a chain reaction that he was having trouble arresting. She had to give him a break now or she'd have real trouble on her hands, right here in the middle of Cardiff.

He seemed to be getting himself under control, so she left him alone and let the baby feed. It was blessedly reassuring to hold the tiny form to herself, and feel it warm and full of life. She held tight and tried to slow her breathing. How she wished Rhys was here, to hold her hand and tell her it was going to be all right. She wasn't sure she could handle this.

"Jack."

She got up, cradling the baby in one arm and going over to him.

"Let's go home."

"I'm not coming."

With the baby on her arm, reminder of her new position as a mother, she felt more in control.

"All right. Have it your way." Shrewdly, she sensed that he would not leave. He had not come back to earth for nothing and as much as the memories hurt him, still more would the loneliness of running away forever. She decided to give him breathing space.

"How about we split up for the afternoon? You know how to get back to ours on the bus, right?"

He nodded curtly to get rid of her. As soon as she left him he would make his way back to his hilltop, and from there make contact with the cold fusion spaceship – they might be able to take him back. He didn't even say good-bye to her – he didn't want the memory on his mind in time to come. Too many good-byes.

As soon as she had gone he left the waterfront, intent on getting out of the city. There was a train that went near to the hill he wanted to get to.

But he never made it to the train station. As he went past the bombsite his resolution faltered and he turned aside and lost himself among streets. He ended up back at the bay – several times, spent a long time looking at the water. He lost himself. He paced, and paced, the noise and colour of the city forming a background to his troubled thoughts. The dead were never going to let him rest. Somehow, somehow he had to make his peace with them. _But how?_ He didn't know what he was doing, he needed someone to help him. But no-one knew, no-one understood.

"I want to help you," Gwen had said. She didn't know what she was saying, how could she? No-one could ever understand.

He thought of Ianto again, how much the Welshman had wanted to talk and be talked to. How much it had hurt him that Jack had always kept his darkest thoughts secret from him. And in spite of everything, sometimes Jack had wanted to share, almost thought he could. Ianto's love had been so deep and so true, he would have gone to the ends of the earth for Jack. That had to count for something. And now it was too late. Now he could never sit and let his thoughts tumble and cry and be held and not be judged. Through stupid pride and fear, he had missed his chance to be saved.

He was sitting in a bus shelter now, head down, resisting the urge to scream. The noise of the traffic. Blur. Faces. Faces in his head. Dead people, people who couldn't help him any more. He shook his head. What was the use of thinking of them? He was all alone now.

And then another face. "Maybe I can help-" Gwen's voice, still living. On Earth now, someone who cared about him. The thought shot through his consciousness like a tiny ray of hope. Still living, and offering him one last chance to share the burden. One in a million.

They were finishing dinner when he got back, tired and hungry, his face drawn. They had saved him some food which Gwen put in the microwave. She was pleased at least that he wanted to eat – one of the most distressing things recently had been watching him pick at his food like an ailing child. And she didn't ask him questions, realising he needed to feel in control or she'd lose him again.

When he had finished, they all three pitched in at clearing the table and washing up. Jack was relaxing a little, oddly pleased to be back among friends. They refrained from quizzing him and confined themselves instead to flicking water at each other over the sink and chasing each other round the living room with wet tea towels.

"Where's the baby?" Jack asked once.

"In bed already." The baby monitor lay on the kitchen table. It was times like these when it felt like the old days, when they had seemed younger somehow, without grown-up things, like houses and babies. The happiness of the moment was ruined for Jack when he had a sudden vision of a basketball game in the Hub, when Ianto had watched the other four playing, happy and oblivious to his gut-wrenching grief at Lisa's plight. Jack remembered the look of betrayal on his face, barely registered at the time. How he had suffered – until the very end. That look hadn't stopped him then, but it did now. Gwen cannoned into him and knocked him flying. All three were on the floor now, laughing, soap suds in their hair. Jack felt so muddled, past guilt and grief warring constantly with the pleasures of the moment.

"Right. Time for bed!" said Rhys to Gwen. Jack let them go, aware of the strain his presence must be putting on their relationship.

"Good night!"

They had only been asleep a few short hours when the baby woke up. His parents lay in the dark a moment, each willing the other to get up. Gwen gave in.

"Okay I'll get that. Go back to sleep."

"Love you."

Gwen wrenched herself from slumber and scrambled into her dressing-gown. In the baby's room she switched on a lamp and picked him up, talking to him in her soothing Welsh tones. The crying stopped. He was just bored and wanted to be held. She sat with him for a while, in the little armchair at the corner of the room, listening to the quiet. When they had lived in Cardiff there was always traffic, doors opening and shutting, people talking. Here in the suburbs there was the neighbour's dog barking, that was all. She was tired and it was late, but every attempt to put Eddie down resulted in strenuous protests from the tiny lungs. She gave up and retrieved her book from their bedroom – her favourite comfort read, Pride and Prejudice. Snuggled in the armchair, Eddie held against her with one arm, she read aloud by the light of the lamp, keeping herself awake with the sound of her own voice.

Jack was having a nightmare, the kind he had often, the kind that made him afraid to go to sleep at night. Only this time it was more vivid than ever. He had Ianto in his arms, and all he could see was his face, lit up by the changing red and blue lights, but all around seemed dark. There was wet on his face and on Ianto's, it was too hot, it was hard to breathe. In his arms, life was slipping away. A little boy's voice was calling him, "Uncle Jack!" And now all around him were people, Tosh, Owen, Gray, little children with pigtails and big, wide eyes, men in a train carriage with rose petals in their mouths, Suzie, Steven with blood on his face, limp and lifeless, and they were all bearing down on him. Jack woke in a panic, in a cold sweat and shaking. Alone in the dark, he was actually scared.

Gwen paused in her reading. It sounded like someone was moving around downstairs. The house was small and her door was open, so she could hear fairly well. That was a light being switched on. She resumed reading, and assumed Jack would soon go back to sleep. It was quiet for a few minutes, then footsteps, the tap running, a window opening. Now he was pacing, up and down, up and down. "Poor Jack," she whispered to Eddie. He had a lot to keep him wake. "Right. Well seeing as we're up…"

He stopped pacing when she entered the room, and spun round, guiltily. "I couldn't sleep. What are you doing here?"

"Well, this one," she gestured to Eddie, "wouldn't sleep either, and I heard a sound so we thought we'd come and investigate. Are you all right?" She smiled and came over to him.

"I've been better."

"Shall we sit down?"

Jack complied. He didn't care what she asked of him now. He couldn't do this alone anymore. She sat on the sofa, with her legs curled under her, sideways on, chin resting on the baby's head, he on one of the kitchen chairs, leaning forward on his knees, trying not to make eye contact.

"D'you – often have trouble sleeping?"

"Yup." A long pause. "I have this nightmare."

So he was talking. Gwen scarcely dared breathe the question. "What about?"

"It's about all of them who died – because of me. People I was responsible for, people I killed."

"Because you had to. You've never wanted to kill anyone."

"How can you know that? Have you any idea what it's like – being me?"

"I know you're not a killer."

"Everyone I come near dies. Nobody's safe. You're not safe, Rhys isn't safe, that baby… It'd be better for all of you if I just left earth for good."

"No. You know that's not true. You know there was a reason you had to come back. Earth needs you, I do… Jack? Look at me. You're a good, good person. You save lives. I don't know what we'd do without you."

"Gwen, I killed my grandson. Do you _hear_ me? My grandson. She said I was dangerous – that's why she didn't want me near him. And I wanted her to trust me. Trust me…" He laughed bitterly.

"You had no choice."

"You always have a choice."

"Oh, and what was yours? To lose millions of innocent children?"

"I should have found a way… Can you imagine what it's like to see people dying all around you? For you, because of you, because you let them die. And knowing that you can never…"

When he stopped talking his teeth were chattering. Despite the warmness of the night he was shivering.

"Jack, love, you're freezing!"

She got up to close the window and then went over to him. His hands were cold.

"How about I make us each a nice hot chocolate, hmm? Sit there, sweetheart and hold this for a minute." She deposited the baby in his arms.

Gwen went to the kitchen end of the room to make the hot chocolate and Jack was left holding Edward Ianto. The child gazed up at him with enormous, trusting eyes. Jack held him as carefully as he could, feeling the instinct to protect rising in him. He smiled down, and moved to play with the little hand. The tiny fingers closed around his large one and held on. Jack froze. The living-room faded. He was transported to another place and another time. Another baby. His daughter Alice. He remembered when they had put her in his arms for the first time, his very own daughter. The adoration that had surged through him. How he had made a solemn promise then to love and cherish her always. To protect her and keep her safe.

Silently, a large tear slid down his cheek, over his chin and dropped onto his hand. The first tear was followed by another, and another. His face crumpled and the tears came in a cascade, uncontrollable and unstoppable. The baby was looking at him amazed, unsure whether to join in or not. Jack pulled him to his chest, bowed over, wept, held on for dear life.

"Jack!" Gwen hurried back from the kitchen, concern etched on her face. She put the mugs down on the table and came to kneel in front of him.

"Jack… hey, look at me. Jack?" It took him a moment to focus. "Can I take this?" Gently she prised the baby from his arms. "I'm going to take him to bed. I promise I'll be right back. Okay?"

Fortunately Edward submitted to being put in his cot, and Gwen was able to return immediately. Jack was struggling to get himself under control. Crouching down, she took his cold, clammy hands in hers.

"Okay, sweetheart, I'm here. You can tell me anything, you can cry as much as you want. You're safe. Okay? Smile for me?"

Jack forced a smile through his tears and tried to get a grip. "I was thinking of Alice," he got out between sobs, "and how I've let her down."

Gwen's heart bled for him. He was a good person, but terrible things came to him, terrible choices that no-one else could make. Who could imagine how many losses he had suffered, how many people he had hurt and been hurt by?

She knelt there for a while, giving him space.

When he had calmed down a little and was sipping at the hot chocolate, and trying not to salt it with his tears, she returned to her spot on the sofa. It was going to be a long night. And then Jack began to talk. Of his fears and hopes and regrets. Of his love and his grief, of his bitter self-loathing, of the curse of eternity, of knowing that for him it would never end. And then he spoke of Ianto, of his many regrets there, of how he had wounded him and let him down and left it all too late…

"-and I never told him."

"Never told him what, Jack?"

"Doesn't matter now."

The sobs were renewed, sadness was tearing at him, he couldn't take it, he couldn't bear it. He buried his face in his hands and wept as if his heart would break. Gwen wondered if this had gone too far. Her cousin had lost a child once. Gwen had never seen anyone suffer so much. For a whole week she had hardly shed a tear, just went around in a stupor, an automaton, externally unmoved but inside the grief was eating her alive. And then one day Gwen had got her to cry. The storm, when it came, was devastating but afterwards the beginnings of hope had been kindled. It wasn't until she had let the grief flow through her that her cousin had begun to heal, to begin the long road to acceptance, and finally some relief from the pain. That was what Gwen wanted for Jack.

And yet now she realised she had been playing with fire. A man like Jack had far too much pain in his past to be able to face. Surely, some things were better left buried. He was racked with sobs, he could hardly catch his breath, he was on the point of retching. Gwen was getting worried. And then she did the best thing she could have done. She came over all motherly.

Jumping up and going to the kitchen sink she rang out a cloth under the cold tap. Then going to Jack's side she pulled him up, pulled his head to her body and held him. With her other hand she sponged his hot face and neck and as she did so she murmured to him softly, soothing him as though he were Eddie. He sobbed, and reaching up grabbed her arm and clung to her like a frightened child.

"Make it stop," he begged.

"There, there sweetheart. It's okay, you're okay."

Jack was in a dark place and very little was getting through. He tried to hold still, feeling her breathe. Dimly, as though at the end of a long tunnel, he heard her words and felt her pity. He reached out towards it, towards the comfort and the love, slipping past the demons that were tearing at him in the darkness. And then it was as though the gates of the tunnel came crashing down, and he was left alone among the beasts. He pulled away from Gwen, angrily, and leapt to his feet, knocking the chair over backwards in his haste. He backed away, circling round the kitchen table.

"What are you doing?" he half-shouted, red-faced. "Who do you think I am that you can hold me and tell me it's going to be all right? I'm not some stupid kid in a playground. I've killed people. Do you understand that?"

"Jack, I've killed people, all of us have…"

His voice rose another notch, "Do you understand? You are wasting your time with me. Save your pity for someone else. You think you can fix me? You think you can make it all right?"

"Jack!" Her voice was pleading. "_Listen_ to me. This is going to be all right."

"What are you talking about? You don't know anything!" His voice rose to a yell. Gwen prayed the two sleeping upstairs would not wake.

"I killed them… I killed them all… God!" He aimed a vicious kick at a table leg. The mugs rocked.

"Oh sweetheart."

With the pain his anger faded as quickly as it had come. His head was down, his shoulders were heaving. "I'm sorry," he sobbed out, "I'm sorry." She ran to him.

"Nothing to be sorry about. Come on."

She took his hand and led him to the sofa. He followed her blindly. He couldn't stop crying. She held him as he sobbed, his head down on her shoulder and his hand clasped in hers. She could feel her shoulder getting wet as the tears soaked through her dressing-gown.

"Jack, I don't care what you've done or haven't done. I know you, I care about you, I want to help you."

"You don't know me."

"Fine. Whatever. But I care about you and I want to help you. Regardless. Do you hear me?" A nod against her shoulder. "You can cry. God knows you've been strong for the rest of us enough times."

He slid down so his head was in her lap. He spoke in muffled tones to her knees. "I miss them all so much. Tosh… Owen… Ianto…"

She nodded dumbly, not trusting herself to speak, her own tears brimming over. She caught them with her tongue so they wouldn't fall on his face. She stroked his hair. Time passed. He quietened.

She ran her thumb down his cheek, wiping away the tears. He shook her off, embarrassed, "I'm all snotty."

"Let me up a sec."

She got the tissues from the coffee table and handed them to him as he sat up. She rang her cloth under the cold tap again, and kneeling alongside him on the sofa, pressed it to his swollen eyes. As she saw to him she thought back to her early days in Torchwood when she'd been bowled over by his glamour and his good looks. There was none of that now. All she saw tonight was a hurting boy and all she wanted to do was mother him. She kissed his hair and felt his forehead. Too hot.

"Keep a hold of this."

She handed him the cloth and went back to the sink for water. He sipped gratefully. He felt parched, like he was being dried out from the inside. His throat was sore but he had to talk again. She listened, as he lay stretched out now, head in her lap. To the random thoughts that came into his head. Regrets. Sudden memories. Names – some she knew, some she did not. Sometimes he started crying again as he talked. Sometimes he was just too exhausted. Sometimes he fell silent for long periods, eyelids drooping sleepily.

Gwen's eyes were stinging with tiredness but she never thought of leaving him. She would stay with him through his darkness, as he had been there through hers many a time. The night wore on.

Jack had reached rock bottom somewhere along the way and the black despair, whilst still heavy, was less overwhelming, less penetrating. He was crying now because he could, because he felt safe, because it reminded him of being a little boy again in his mother's arms.

A long time later he fell asleep, his hands wrapped around hers resting on his chest. She watched him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing, relieved. With her other hand he stroked his hair, fondly, proud of him, a little emotional when she thought about their lives together, and how she had at last been able to be there for him. At last, with the pale light of dawn filtering through the curtains, she too fell asleep where she sat, head back against the sofa cushions, lips parted.

She woke from an uneasy dream later to the sound of Rhys moving around upstairs. Despite her minimal amount of sleep, she felt somewhat refreshed – the adrenaline of the previous night had carried over and was preventing real exhaustion settling in. Her legs were numb but, afraid to move and disturb Jack, she sat still a little longer, reflecting. When Rhys eventually appeared, she motioned him to be quiet. Stepping softly into the room, he spoke in a whisper.

"You been here all night?"

She nodded. "Most of it."

"You must be knackered."

"I'm not so bad."

He came to the sofa and, leaning over carefully, deposited a kiss on her tousled brow.

"Eddie all right?" she asked.

"Yeah. And what about him?" He gestured to the sleeping man.

She looked up at him with big, sad eyes. "I think he's going to be all right, but it was horrible, Rhys." She lowered her voice even more, so that she was scarcely breathing the words. "It was like – it was like all the people he'd lost – it was like it had all happened yesterday. They say time heals but if you bottle things up the way he's been doing you don't give it half a chance."

"I take it he opened up then?"

"Yeah." She looked down.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," very faint.

"All right love." Another kiss, tender, supportive.

They were quiet a moment, then, moving very carefully, Gwen managed to extricate herself without waking Jack, and placed a cushion under his head. They crept upstairs, washed and dressed and then came back down again to have breakfast. They took exceptional care not to wake Jack, moving stealthily and talking in hushed tones. He looked peaceful, if a little flushed. The morning had dawned fresh, a little cooler than the previous days and Gwen opened the windows again, letting the cleansing breeze wash through the house. Rhys brought a blanket and tucked Jack in as though he were his own son. Gwen watched, infinitely grateful for his patience and understanding. What a long way they had come.

The day drifted on. Rhys left for work. Gwen went to the bedroom to try to snatch some sleep but found she could not. It was a long time before drowsiness finally came to her, and then, just as the first tendrils of sleep reached out to pull her in, Eddie woke up, inconsolable. He was generally a fairly peaceful baby but today nothing could halt the wailing. So once again Gwen found herself hushing and soothing and kissing away tears. At the moment it felt like she had two children. If it wasn't one, it was the other. Ironically, exhaustion had finally set in now as she paced up and down the bedroom with him, fed him, burped him, changed him. She felt sick with tiredness and at her wits' end when a seeming miracle happened. Rhys came home. It wasn't even lunch time.

"What are you doing here?"

"I managed to get off early. I thought you could probably do with a break."

It was all she could do to keep from breaking down with relief. He hugged her, with the baby in the middle, and gave her a kiss.

"Right, it's time for you to have a lie down. How about I take this one for a walk?"

Jack awoke in the early afternoon to an unaccustomed feeling of calm. A sadness, a sort of melancholy hung over him, but it was not the same savage desperation that had dogged him for so long. He felt simultaneously much rested and very drained – like a convalescent patient who must sleep to keep his strength up – and when he tried to sit up he found he had a splitting headache. He decided to remain as he was. If he kept very still with his eyes shut the pounding in his head abated and he was able to just lie there, listening to far away sounds and feeling the peace. He wondered where everyone had gone – it was rare that this house was completely quiet. He drifted off a bit and woke again a short time later to the sound of Rhys coming back with Eddie, finally soothed. Jack kept his eyes shut and pretended to be asleep – he didn't feel up to talking.

The new arrivals kept mousy quiet and when Gwen arrived downstairs presently, still a little tired but with the edge taken off of her exhaustion, she greeted them in a whisper.

"Hello Eddie. Did you have a nice walk? Have you stopped being a grumpy little boy? Rhys, I'm starving."

"So am I."

"Well, what do you want to do?"

"Toasted sandwiches?"

"Good plan."

Jack let the comforting talk wash over him and later, when the tempting smell of the toasted sandwiches reached him, he opened his eyes. Gwen came over.

"Good morning, you!"

"What time is it?"

"It's two-thirty. We're having lunch, or rather breakfast for you. Would you like some?"

He nodded and started to get up. "I'll lend a hand."

"No, no. You just stay there. Are you warm enough?"

He nodded again, feeling very small.

"How are you feeling?"

"Headache."

"I thought you might, you poor kid. I'll get you something for it."

Gwen brought him his sandwich shortly and he sat up to eat, trying not to wince at the pain in his head. He felt loved, and convalescent and – mournful.

The next few days were strange ones for Jack. He felt fragile, young. Gwen and Rhys mollycoddled him. She fussed over him constantly and would get up in the night to check on him. Sometimes she would sit on a chair and watch him sleep. Sometimes he did wake – the nightmares had not entirely stopped – and would fall asleep again with his hand in hers.

They all talked a lot more now and sometimes Jack cried. Sometimes they all did. It was an emotional time. For Jack it was the first time he had actually addressed the events of those two awful days last year. For Gwen and Rhys it was like reliving it, seeing him go through what they had been through then. Coming to terms with what they had lost, with what had been saved and the price that had been paid. Jack drew great strength from the baby, who kept them all grounded. For him the child was a spark of hope, the phoenix rising from the ashes of Torchwood. Of course sometimes he looked at him and his heart ached, thinking of Steven, but all the sorrow and the regret was something he was learning to live with. After all, he had had enough practice over his many lifetimes.

With Gwen so preoccupied with Jack, many of the baby duties fell to Rhys and sometimes he grumbled. This state of affairs was not how he had imagined their early married life.

"How long are we going to have him living on the couch?" he asked her one night.

"I don't know, Rhys. Do _you_ want to turf him out?"

"No, but…"

"I know. Look, at the moment he needs us. Can we just not worry about it for now? It's not going to be forever."

It was tough for Rhys, as it was for both of them, but for the most part he was a saint, and Gwen couldn't have managed without him. On the Sunday they all drove out into the countryside and had a picnic. The day was warm and sunny and the spot they chose was quiet and largely free of other people.

Jack was discovering an interesting thing about reaching rock bottom. That when you're there, in the pit of utmost despond, when you feel you have lost everything, then even the slightest thing appears as a blessing. It was like that now, as he lay on his back under the branches of a spreading oak, and looking up saw each leaf in all its definition outlined against the sky, as if seeing them for the very first time. In all the time he had lived, and with all the things he had seen, far beyond imagination, he had sometimes lost his sense of wonder. Sometimes it needed tragedy to strike for him to be truly aware of being alive.

At the moment the demons of fear and loss still loomed near enough for him to be wary of venturing into the dark recesses of his mind. In the past he had avoided those demons by throwing himself ever more ferociously into the task in hand, retreating below the level of thought to mechanistic procedures, going through the motions, indulging his feelings if he felt like it, bottling them up if he wanted to. Today for a while he left all that behind. The sadness had gotten too great for him to treat it that way. He had to go beyond. With total clarity he fixed his attention on each of his senses, felt the rough ground beneath his fingertips, heard the soft murmur of the breeze rustling the leaves above him, and saw nature in all its glory.

Gwen and Rhys sat on their picnic blanket and played with baby Edward, the picture of marital bliss. Jack watched them with a smile, remembering how he had fought for their relationship, and how Gwen's well-being had preyed on his mind in the early days after he had recruited her. At least that was one thing that had turned out all right.

It was on the next day that Jack expressed to Gwen his regret at never having bade farewell to Ianto. She took it in hand. Thanks to the dissolution of Torchwood, Ianto's body had not had to be preserved, but had been buried in the conventional manner in a cemetery close to his sister's home. Gwen offered to drive him there. On the way they stopped at a corner shop and Jack went in and bought a bouquet of lilies, Ianto's favourite flower. Back in the car, his buried his face in the petals, and with the strong sweet scent came a wave of memories, painful and exquisite in equal measure. Gwen found his hand and squeezed it, wishing him courage.

Arriving at the place, Gwen put the baby in the pram and Jack put his arm through hers. Gwen was in a black dress, as if for a funeral, but Jack wore the military outfit that Ianto had liked so much. Arm in arm, they made their way past the neatly tended graves to their objective.

Ianto's grave was well-kept. There was a simple headstone, and fresh flowers. Evidently his family visited often. Gwen had been here several times with Rhys, and on more than one occasion had bawled like a baby. But today she was being strong for Jack. She could feel him trembling against her touch. They stood in silence for a time, each lost in thought. It was an achingly beautiful day. At length Gwen spoke.

"You can say something you know, Jack."

A hollow laugh. "He can't hear me."

"But what if he could, sweetheart?" She spoke softly, persuasively. "What if there's a one in a million chance?"

He hesitated. She disengaged her arm and turned his chin so she could see his face. Seeing his stricken look, she gave him an encouraging smile. "Try it. You can do this." And then, pushing his hair back from his forehead affectionately, she turned and left him.

"I'll wait for you back at the car." And she took the pram and strolled off, leaving Jack open-mouthed and shaking. Amazed at himself, he realised that even if there was only a one in a million chance, it was worth taking.

It was a long time before Jack came back. He was flushed and his eyes were bright with moisture, but he was smiling.

"So?"

"So, I told him."

She kissed him. She couldn't help it. She was so proud of him. Then they fell into one another's embrace, out there in the morning sun. He laid his cheek on her head and held her close, thinking of what she had done for him, and how he could ever repay her…

"At least…" his voice was cracking, "I can't hurt him any more."

"Oh shush." She pressed herself closer, hoping to convey some comfort by the warmth of her body. "You're so brave," she said "so brave…"

He was very quiet on the way home.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Yup. I feel – better I think." He fell quiet again. He seemed to be searching for the words.

"Gwen?"

"Yes, Jack."

"What – what happens now?"

"We-ell." She hesitated. She understood what he meant – where do you go when everything you lived for is lost? "I think the thing is, you've got to have a project, something to give your attention to."

"Well that was Ianto-"

She stole a glance at his face. It was gaunt with agony. "I know sweetheart. I'm sorry."

"-and Torchwood."

"Well _that_ you can do something about."

Jack groaned. "God, no."

"What?"

"Do you realise how much we lost in the explosion? All the technology… stuff Torchwood's been collecting for over a hundred years. And we could never rebuild the Hub…"

"Jack!" Gwen was shocked. "This isn't like you. Come on. Torchwood can go on. We have bits and bobs we salvaged, and you can start again. Think about it, the original Torchwood, they had to start somewhere. And they didn't have _you_."

She nudged him affectionately. He didn't respond. Something was wrong.

"Jack," her tone was troubled, "you don't give up. What's going on here? Hmm? Talk to me," she coaxed him gently.

"All right, all right. I just can't stop thinking about all the grief Torchwood caused. I mean, think about your wedding day… Think about all the late nights, the danger… Think about how it ruined their lives, all of them."

"No, not ruined. And they made their choices, Jack. As I did."

"Well, anyway it's not just that. It's… Look at what Torchwood makes us do. Look at what we become."

Gwen nodded, remembering that hard look on Jack's face when he had to do something unpleasant, like killing a dangerous alien. It was the side of him she had never really liked very much. And now he could see it too. Softened as he was in these last few days, he was looking back on his Torchwood self and balking at what he saw. She needed to reassure him.

"Jack, whatever you do, you will always be the man who saved this whole world over and over again. You'll always be my hero, and I'd trust you with my life."

He started to protest.

"Don't say anything. You are brave, and loyal, and you have a good, good heart. Whatever you have to do can't change that. I know that, for sure."

Arguments were rising in his mind but he decided to ignore them. He nodded slowly, touched. They dropped the subject, then, but both of them were untalkative the rest of the way home, their minds busy.

A few days passed and Jack was recovering a little of his confidence and a little of his sense of fun. There was still an unaccustomed vulnerability to him, but bit by bit he was getting stronger.

There came a rainy evening when the three of them were sitting round the kitchen table after a good dinner. In fact, Jack had cooked, and to the surprise of Rhys at least, it had been delicious. They were teasing him now about his unexpected talent. Light-hearted banter flowed back and forth. Rhys held Eddie and all three were laughing and contented.

A knock at the door hushed them all.

"Who could that be at this hour?" Gwen was startled. "I'll get it."

And she disappeared into the hall, leaving the menfolk at the table. Car headlights could be seen through the window-pane. Gwen opened the door. "Oh my God, Andy!"

The policeman stood there in the gathering dusk, sheltering from the rain under the porch. "Andy, come inside. How are you? What are you doing here?"

He was hesitant. "Gwen, it's good to see you. Um, congratulations on your baby."

"Thank you. Well, if you come in you can meet him."

"I can't really, I'm on duty. Actually, I came to ask you a favour."

"Okay, what was it?"

"We've found a weird – glowing thing in a back alley. The boys won't believe me but I think it's alien. I'm worried it could be dangerous…"

There was a step in the hallway. It was Jack. He had his trademark long coat on. Andy gaped. "What are you doing here? We thought you vanished!"

"Never mind that now. This object, what did it look like? Describe it to me."

Jack was cool, commanding. Gwen went to stand beside Rhys who had also appeared with the baby. They watched. Jack listened to the description.

"All right, constable. It sounds like I'd better take a look at this thing. You got room for one more in that police car of yours?"

"Thank you sir. It's very good of you. I'll talk to you later, Gwen!"

"Umm, okay."

Jack swept through the door, stopped on the threshold and turned round for a moment. "Don't wait up." For a second he stood silhouetted by the headlights, against a background of falling rain. Then the door closed and he was gone.

The little family made their way back into the living room.

"Will he be all right, d'you think?"

"Gwen, you ninny. He's a big boy now!"

She smiled and took the baby from him. "Yeah, I know." She was beaming. "I know."

THE END

- 25 -


End file.
